“Possibly. Though I might have a better idea. Girls’ weekend in Destin before you go back.”
If she went back, given the darker turn her thoughts had taken. But ohhh, the beach sounded heavenly. The Rosses owned a condo in Destin, Florida, right on the white sands of the Emerald Coast. Though her parents used it frequently, she hadn’t been in a few years. She could so do with some sunshine and waves. An abundance of salty Gulf air to clear her head. “I would love that.”
“Let me see what I can get worked out, okay?”
“Sounds good.”
“I love ya, girl. Talk to you soon.”
Gabby ended the call and sat staring at her phone without seeing it. It was probably true this would get harder the longer she waited. Hell, she could march downstairs right now and blurt out her news to her mother and get it over with. While her mom might be overjoyed to have another grandchild, Gabby didn’t think for a second she wouldn’t be disappointed in her eldest.
She’d always been the good child. Brian had been the rebellious one, often getting in serious trouble. Evan had been the player, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. Gabby had often scolded them both for their choices right alongside her mother. Now? Ugh. She could imagine all of them lining up to shake their fingers at her—her younger brothers no doubt with malicious glee in payback for all those times she’d done it to them.
It was okay. She wasn’t ashamed. They might be ashamed of her, but none of that would matter five years from now—her standard approach to dealing with stress. The uncertainty, though, was terrible. The thought of meeting all their many questions with I don’t know or I guess we’ll see. She’d never lived that way. She didn’t know how.
For a terrible moment, she longed so hard for her old life that her chest ached. Her home with Mark. Her friends. School. Mark himself. Steady, level-headed Mark, who’d apparently put on such a façade of contentment that he deserved an Academy Award. Again she thought about everything she was supposed to be enjoying right now, everything that had been snatched so cruelly away from her at the last possible moment.
She’d told Ian she didn’t want contentment and that she should’ve run out on her own wedding. She wanted much more than that in her life. Joy, happiness, excitement, love. But stability was also high on her list. Way high. Right now, she felt so unstable she might topple over. That surely didn’t mean she had to trade in everything else to have it, though, right?
Weakness engulfed her, and for yet another even more terrible moment, she toyed with the idea of calling Mark. What would she say? What was the point? If there had been even the slightest, tiniest, most miniscule chance of going back, it was gone now. She was pregnant with another man’s child. For all she knew, Mark had moved on too. Maybe to a fake-chested trophy-wife type who was sleeping in the very bed the two of them had shared.
She picked up her phone again. Instead of dialing her ex-fiancé, though, she dialed Brian’s cell. He answered just as she thought it might go to voice mail.
“Are you guys okay?” she asked.
“We’re good.” There was no mistaking the weariness in his voice.
“How is Candace feeling?”
“She was really sick this morning. Laid around with a cold rag on her head until almost noon. I think she’s better now.”
“Poor thing. Tell her to keep some crackers and a Coke by the bed. She needs to eat and drink first thing when she wakes up.” That was what she’d begun to do as of yesterday morning, and it seemed to help stave off the nausea.
“Oh yeah? I’ll tell her. Thanks for the tip.” He probably accepted it as medical advice and not something she had experience with.
“Have you told anyone yet?”
“No. She wants to wait.” There was a lot of that going around. “You haven’t said anything to Mom, have you?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to ya.”
“Thanks.”
She’d taken some time to assess his mood and determined that he was more than tired; he seemed rather down. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m worried about her.”
“Is she still not taking it well?”
“It’s not that. She seems happier about it. I’m the one freaking out now, you know? Just…a lot to take on.”
“You’ll be a really cool dad, Brian.”
“I keep thinking I’ll be a total fuck-up.”
“Nope. Your fuck-up days are behind you. You might not want to say ‘fuck’ in front of the kid so much, though.”
He laughed at that. “I’ll keep that in mind. Wouldn’t want it to be his first word.”
“His?” she teased.
“Well, yeah. I can’t have a girl.”
“I think that’s just what you need, a sweet little girl to put you through the same hell you put Candace’s parents through one day. The only thing I think would be better for you than a girl is twin girls.”
“Shut your mouth! Fuck!”
Oh yeah, she’d pay for that one, but she hadn’t been able to resist. Once she had him thoroughly panicked, she let him go, glad that she wasn’t the only one in turmoil. Hearing about his had made her feel more in control of her own, which had sort of been the goal. Poor Brian.
Like he’d said, though, everything was going to be okay.
Wasn’t it?
Ian was going to end up losing his beloved new job if he kept blowing it off. He’d promised everything but his firstborn to Ghost to get him to cover for him, and now he was heading toward Dallas with nothing but his motorcycle and the clothes on his back. He didn’t plan on staying long.
The wind in his face and the roar of the motor didn’t cleanse his thoughts as they normally did. No, Gabriella Ross had taken up permanent residence there, and she was a stubborn tenant. He’d wanted to call her and ask her to come with him but hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. She probably would’ve said no.
The ride was a long and lonely one. But no lonelier than the little brick house waiting at the end of his journey. Lonely not because it sat by itself—it was surrounded on both sides by identical little brick houses—but because the worst and loneliest years of his life had been spent within its walls.
He hadn’t told his mom he was coming. Whether she’d be surprised, delighted, disgusted…he honestly had no fucking clue. It felt a little strange to knock on the door of the house he’d grown up in, but it wasn’t home anymore. So he did. And waited.
The door opened. Whether it was surprise, delight or disgust he saw on his mother’s lined face, he couldn’t say, because her expression didn’t change at all.
She looked old. She looked bad. He forced a smile for her regardless of his less than warm reception. “Hi, Mom.”
“It’s a mess around here,” she said by way of greeting, backing away from the door so he could enter. She shuffled along slowly, as if she were in pain. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have picked up a bit.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, stepping inside and getting swamped with a thousand memories from the smell alone. Not an unpleasant smell to the senses, just one he equated with misery. The house wasn’t a mess at all, actually—it was as tidy as that old bastard had always insisted it must be. But since Earl had never been pleased with it, and she’d listened to him bitch about it for years, of course she would think it was too messy. Nothing was ever good enough.
“Coffee?” she asked, ambling toward the kitchen.
He followed, his boots clomping against the linoleum. “Sure.”
She put on a pot, and he struggled for something to say as he watched her birdlike hands work. A lot of people told him he was a quiet guy. Well, she was the genetic culprit. Her voice was soft and slow, and he didn’t think he’d ever heard it raised in his life. Yeah, that had been a major source of contention for them. There had been times as a kid he’d needed it raised in his defense. He’d had to learn to raise his own.